Home away from home

I was glancing through my files and realized I forgot to post this. It was written about three weeks ago, detailing my journey from Kuala Lumpur back to Dublin. Enjoy

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So begins my long (very long) journey back to Dublin.

The two months spent back home seemed like a flash, though my stomach would beg to differ. Being away from home for the most part of the year leads to the assumption that one has to be fed till he cannot feed no more. Enough about my gastronomic exploits...

Hairy-zilla

I’ve always been fascinated with the concept of the unibrow, where one’s eyebrows meet in the middle and form a single eyebrow.

Never for the life of me could have imagined that hair could extend from the chin(beard), down to the neck(neck hair?), and ‘connect’ with chest hair. Now what would you call that?

I couldn’t keep my eyes of Hairy. He was wearing a polo shirt which was buttoned all the way to the top. And his chest hair was thicker than the hair on his head.

Oh I googled 'the world's hairiest man' and found this picture

It’s not polite to stare. It really isn’t.

DUBAI Airport

I’m a quarter way through my ten hour stopover in Dubai Airport. I felt extremely refreshed after taking advantage of the free shower rooms situated strategically beside the prayer room.

After spending half an hour browsing through duty free shops, I realized that 142.50 Dirhams doesn’t really give me a whole lot of purchasing power.

The free buffet was a disappointment. I couldn’t stomach anything but the macaroni and cheese. So, off to Burger King for dinner number two.

Burner King

No that wasn’t a typo. They burnt the meat in my double swiss mushroom, which cost a whopper 46 Dirhams! And it tasted like charcoal. Waste oh waste...

Displacement

India has a population of more than 1 billion. Ireland has a population of 5 million. Most countries in Europe have small populations. Hence the term ‘personal space’ is understood differently.

I am not a racist. This is just an observation.

A European couple were seated at a table for four. They weren’t really eating, just hanging out and having a conversation.

Along come two Indian ladies, who asked permission to occupy the two ‘empty’ seats in front of the couple.

What? Who does that?

The couple looked at each other uncomfortably without really saying no to the Indian ladies. That was the cue, the ladies sat down without batting an eyelid. It was awkward, even for me to watch. My table was right beside them.

Thirty seconds later, the rest of the Indian family arrived (in sorta like a scene from the Nutty Professor), carrying a whole bunch of whoppers and fries.

They just hung around the table, without really asking the couple to leave. They started to have animated conversations with each other, making a whole lot of noise in the process.

It was a psychological battle. I could almost feel the tension in the air. In the end, the couple left. The Indians won. They got the table without even having to ask. Classic.

It didn’t end there.

The table for four just wouldn’t fit the SIX of them. They weren’t exactly small. The two ladies inched closer and closer towards my table. The little ones had already arrived at my table, cautiously eyeing me as I hid behind my laptop. One of them finally sat down right beside me.

The invasion had begun.

Another glance at the clock. 7 hours to go.

Birmingham International Airport

I finally arrived in Birmingham. The immigration queue was ridiculously long. It took a little more than two hours to get my passport stamped. Just 5 hours left till my flight to lovely ol’ Dublin.

I found a cosy spot on one of the unoccupied massage chairs. Not that I wanted a massage. Nor did I want to hear groans of pleasure by the Arab beside me after he inserted a pound into the machine. Geez.